


Welcome to San Francisco

by fromaLongLineofTVDetectives



Series: The American Episodes [3]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Case Fic, Established Relationship, F/M, Mystery, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-06 14:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11038377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromaLongLineofTVDetectives/pseuds/fromaLongLineofTVDetectives
Summary: In the follow-up toManhattan Murder Mystery, Jack and Phryne arrive in San Francisco to board a steamer back to Melbourne, where they encounter Lin Chung, who urgently needs their help. To solve the case, they all go undercover: Phryne & Lin as married couple; Jack as Baron Henry Fisher.





	1. Dim Sum

**April, 1930**

“Are you going to tell me what you ordered up for us?” Jack asked. 

He and Phryne occupied a small table in a Dim Sum restaurant in San Francisco’s Chinatown. Phryne had ordered for them both in Mandarin, insisting that after a week of bland and uninspired food on trains through American West they were overdue for something more flavorful. 

“I can tell you what I ordered,” Phryne answered with a smile, “but not what's going to appear on our plates.” 

Jack returned her sly smile. “You have no idea what the waiter asked you in return.” 

“That’s very harsh, Jack Robinson,” she teased. “I have some idea, just not enough to be absolutely certain what I agreed to.” 

Jack laughed out loud. 

“I haven’t spoken Mandarin in months, darling,” she continued, laughing as well. “There was very little need for it in Montana, or Chicago, or New York even.” 

“I suppose we’ll make do with what comes,” Jack parried, an eyebrow raised as he employed the phrase that had marked a turning point for them nearly a year ago. 

With a warm smile, Phryne took his hand and held his gaze. They had been making do very well indeed. 

After months apart, Jack and Phryne had reunited in New York a month previous and had made their way west by train, at a more leisurely pace than either had expected, to meet a steamer bound back home to Melbourne. They’d arrived in San Francisco earlier in the day, disembarking at the Oakland terminus, boarding a crowded ferry for the trip across the bay, mounting a creaking streetcar that climbed California Street to reach the Fairmont Hotel. The exhilaration of foreign travel was beginning to wear thin. Phryne looked forward to their return to Melbourne, but not to the monotonous days at sea that would precede them. 

“Anything important in your mail earlier?” Jack inquired. A bundle of parcels and telegrams awaited them on arrival at the Fairmont. 

“Aside from Dot’s package? A lovely postcard from Kate in New York,” Phryne answered. “She sends her love. Several letters from my solicitor in London, but I’d rather not think about financial decisions today. And a thick letter from my father I don’t dare open on empty stomach.” 

Jack nodded in recognition. A waiter quietly refilled their tea and set out chopsticks. 

“Anything important in your letter from Hugh?” she asked in return. 

“Nothing that won’t wait,” Jack answered. It was the truth, of course, but his answer obscured more than it revealed. 

Hugh had passed along a mixture of fact and rumor from Russell Street, now weeks out of date, indicating that yet another new police commissioner would be appointed soon to shake up personnel. There was talk of bringing in someone with no ties to Melbourne, perhaps someone from Sydney. There was talk that British army officer currently stationed in Calcutta wanted the position. Jack’s job wasn’t necessarily in jeopardy, but it wasn’t a good time to be away on a jaunt around the world. No matter. They were headed back soon enough, and there was very little Jack could do tonight from eight thousand miles away. 

The waiter returned with a bamboo basket of steamed pork dumplings, warm and aromatic, and likely better, Phryne thought, than any meal they could expect on the ship back to Australia. 

“Xie, Xie,” Phryne responded with a wide smile, expertly grasping a plump dumpling with her chopsticks and offering it to Jack, then taking one for herself. 

The bustle of the cozy restaurant heartened her, clearing away some of the fatigue of travel – the scents, colors and sounds sparking her interest in the world around her after the sameness of train-window vistas through the vast rural areas of the country. 

Suddenly a voice emerged from the din, breaking her reverie. 

“Phryne Fisher,” called a man’s voice from the front of the restaurant. “I’d know you anywhere,” he continued, switching to Mandarin. 

Phryne turned towards the voice, first with surprise and then with genuine elation. 

“Lin!” Phryne replied, standing up to greet her friend. “How marvelous to see you here!” 

Lin Chung beamed at Phryne, kissing her on both cheeks in the European manner, and inwardly cheering his good fortune. Phryne was exactly the person he needed assistance from in his present circumstances. 

Jack, still seated at the table watching them, cleared his throat. 

“Inspector Robinson,” Lin said graciously, switching back to English. “Forgive me. It’s somehow not entirely unexpected that I might run into Miss Fisher in any corner of the globe, but your presence is a most pleasant surprise.” 

Phryne caught Jack’s eye and urged him to play along with this turn of events. 

“Mr. Lin,” Jack responded formally. “Would you like to join us?” 

“I’d very much like to speak with you,” Lin replied, “but this is not the place. Could I meet you somewhere more private later?” 

“Of course,” Phryne answered. “We’re at the Fairmont for the next few days.” 

“Breakfast tomorrow at the Laurel Court,” Lin stated evenly, then brought Phryne’s hand to his lips for a kiss. “I’ll look forward to seeing you.” Lin extended a hand to Jack. “Both of you.” 

Jack returned Lin’s handshake, but expressed his displeasure to Phryne as soon as Lin moved out of earshot. 

“Don’t, Jack. I haven’t corresponded with him in over a year. There’s obviously something wrong and he needs our help.” 

“How could you possibly deduce that from the exchange we just had?” 

“I don’t believe in coincidence,” she responded. “And I once knew the man quite well. Something’s wrong.” 

“Yes,” was all Jack said, trying not to think about how well Phryne once knew Lin. 

“Besides,” she continued, “we have a few days before the ship departs. We could use a little adventure.” 


	2. Breakfast at the Laurel Court

**The next morning.**

Phryne and Jack reached the hostess station of the Fairmont Hotel’s sumptuous Laurel Court restaurant at precisely eight a.m., pausing there, as the hostess was nowhere to be found. 

The room was hushed. Wait staff were trained to walk softly, place the silverware precisely, and never clatter a tea cup against a saucer. It was the kind of quiet the very rich use as a sign of elegance, and to mark their superiority from the clamor of places like Chinatown. 

Phryne scanned the dining room from a distance. She noticed Lin already seated, waiting for them to join him for breakfast. He’d not yet spied them. 

Phryne took a step back from the threshold into the main lobby. Jack followed. 

“I wonder if you might give me a few minutes alone with Lin before you join us,” Phryne asked. 

“Would you like me to hide behind the potted palm?” Jack replied, play-acting a more offended tone than felt. 

“Of course not,” she countered. “Stroll to the concierge desk, make an inquiry about something or other, and then join us. It’s an experiment.” 

“Testing me or him?” 

“Lin, of course. I want to see if his demeanor is the same with me alone as it is with us together.” 

“I thought you trusted him?” 

“I do,” Phryne responded, drawing out the phrase as her voice modulated into its higher register, “but I don’t necessarily trust his circumstances. We have no idea what kind of trouble Lin’s found himself in the middle of.” 

“The Communist revolutionary bride?” Jack offered. 

“Perhaps. Or the any of the wide variety of criminal enterprises that find their way to the docks and warehouses of international importers.” 

“Last night you saw our Mr. Lin as a source of adventure,” Jack teased. 

“Adventure’s one thing, Jack. Reckless danger is another. I’m not sure which we’re up against yet.” 

“Here he comes,” Jack said, catching Lin’s movements from the corner of his eye. 

Phryne turned towards the dining room in an exaggerated movement and approached Lin with a warm welcome. 

Jack made his excuses and sauntered towards the main lobby, pleased that Phryne was balancing her ever-present desire for novelty with caution this morning. They had certainly learned in New York how quickly matters could escalate when American law enforcement was compromised. He had no desire to immerse himself in San Francisco’s version of the same phenomenon, particularly when a new entanglement might further delay their trip home. 

* * *

Moments later, Lin and Phryne were seated at the breakfast table, sharing a pot of tea. 

“You look well,” Lin told Phryne with a wide smile. The intervening years had done nothing to dim his smooth, handsome features. His suit was impeccably tailored. He seemed as at ease in the Laurel Court as he had in the Chinatown restaurant, much as Phryne would have expected from their previous time together in Melbourne. Whatever trouble he was in, she pondered, he hid it well from the outside. 

“Are you and Inspector Robinson in San Francisco on a case?” Lin asked. 

“Not exactly,” Phryne replied. “You might say our relationship is no longer strictly business.” 

“I see,” Lin answered. “Are you happy?” 

“Very much so,” Phryne replied without hesitation. 

“Should I still refer to you as Miss Fisher?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then there must be more to Inspector Robinson than I had originally perceived,” he concluded. 

Phryne smiled in acknowledgement, the kind of bright and open smile that attempted to communicate in a glance just how much more there was to Inspector Robinson than Lin would have realized at the time of their last acquaintance. 

“I’m pleased,” Lin said in respose. “I’m afraid I need all the help I can muster.” 

“Let's start at the beginning,” Phryne said. 

“Several weeks ago, I received word that my warehouse manager, Jian Li, had been killed during the night. I was on a sales trip in Seattle, and it took me several days to reach San Francisco.” 

“Are we speaking of the silk trade? Or have you diversified?” 

“Silk,” Lin answered, with an edge in voice. “The market is down, but I have not been forced into the circumstances you insinuate.” 

“I insinuate nothing, Lin,” Phryne replied, remembering one of their first conversations in which she asked if he traded in opium. “If I’m going to help you, I need the facts.” 

“Very well,” he continued. “I arrived at my silk warehouse to discover that the police had arrested another of my workers, Ahn Chan, for murder. But the rest of the men, including Camelia’s cousin, insist he could not have done it.” 

“And you believed them?” 

“I did not know what to believe at first, but after speaking with Chan in the detainment center, I came to believe that his confession was coerced. He did not speak enough English to understand the officers, and no translator was made available.” 

“Detainment center? This sounds like a matter for an immigration lawyer, not a private investigator,” Phryne replied. 

A waiter approached silently with orange juice and pastry. Lin switched to Mandarin. “That is not the whole story.” 

At the same moment Jack entered the restaurant and Phryne motioned for him to join them at the table. 

“Tea. Thank you,” Jack said to the waiter, then turned to Phryne, “What have I missed?” 

“Lin was just getting to the good part,” Phryne stated. 

“I’m not sure you’ll think it good once you hear it,” Lin replied. “Yesterday, a British man tracked me down at my sales office above the warehouse. He introduced himself as Charles Ramsey, of Hong Kong, and claimed that my manager…” 

“The dead man,” Phryne interrupted, catching Jack up. 

Jack nodded in reply. 

Lin seemed slightly aghast. 

“We do this sort of thing all the time,” Phryne said to Lin by way of explanation. “Jack will follow along.” 

The hostess approached the empty table to their left and seated a large party of fashionably dressed women. 

Lin stopped his story while the party was settled, then turned to Jack, “My apologies, Inspector.” 

Lin then continued to Phryne in Mandarin. “The man claimed to be in business with my warehouse manager, smuggling priceless art treasures that ruined men across the globe have been forced to liquidate, then selling them on the black market here.” 

Phryne nodded, confident that she was following the gist of the story despite her rusty language skills. 

Jack, understanding no Mandarin, observed them both for clues. 

“Ramsey,” Lin proceeded, “claims that Li withheld the most valuable object, a jade Buddha, and intended to double-cross him and keep all the proceeds for himself.” 

“Did Ramsey kill Li?” Phryne asked, continuing in Mandarin. 

“He claims he did,” Lin answered, keeping his voice steady so as not arouse further suspicion from the other patrons. “He says he’ll do the same to me if I don’t produce the object this afternoon.” 

Phryne, shaken, turned to Jack to meet his gaze with an expression of sincere concern. 

Jack read her meaning effortlessly. 

“Waiter,” Jack called. “May we get the check please? We’ve decided to order room service and dine upstairs.” 

Despite the language barrier, Jack surmised there was adventure, and danger, on the day's agenda after all. 


	3. The First Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of mystery, a dash of romance, and the San Francisco fog...

Jack entered the hotel suite as a waiter was clearing the breakfast dishes. Phryne and Lin shared a large sofa in the sitting area. 

Out of the public eye, Lin’s typical smooth composure showed signs of wear. 

“The concierge had this small tourist map,” Jack said, passing it to Phryne. 

“This is a start,” she replied. 

“I paid a bellhop to check the local bookstore for something more detailed. He’ll meet us downstairs at the car in thirty minutes.” 

As Lin had explained over breakfast, Charles Ramsey “requested” Lin’s presence, with the jade Buddha, at a forest preserve north of the city known as Muir Woods. The park protected acres of giant redwood trees, behemoths so large and slow growing that some were three hundred feet tall and a thousand years old. The preserve was remote, isolated, and deadly quiet. 

“With so few cards in our hand,” Phryne continued, “any knowledge we can gain improves our odds.” Her narration was more for Lin’s benefit than Jack’s. 

“I don’t like the terrain,” Lin replied, looking at the tourist map. “It feels like we’re walking in to a trap.” 

“I still think it’s our best strategy,” Phryne answered. 

“To bluff,” Jack confirmed. 

“Yes,” she replied, too quickly, some edge creeping in to her tone. 

“I’m not doubting you, Phryne. I’m asking that we run through it one more time.” 

“All right,” she answered, drawing the words out more than necessary. “We don’t have the jade Buddha, or any knowledge of the jade Buddha. Correct, Lin?” 

“Correct,” he answered. 

“Given one dead man, we have some reason to believe Mr. Ramsey’s threats to Lin’s person. Given the wrong culprit behind bars, we have little reason to trust the authorities.” 

“Ramsey may be bluffing,” Jack replied, testing her logic - as she would fully expect - by playing devil’s advocate. 

“He may be,” she agreed, “but I’d rather take Ramsey at his word on go on the offensive with our own strategy than dodge the rendezvous and have Lin play sitting duck. Our bluff gains us information.” 

“You hope.” 

“While buying us time. And saving Lin’s life, of course.” 

“Of course.” 

As Phryne spoke, she crossed the sitting room to the credenza, eased open one of its polished wood doors, and removed a jewelry box from the built-in safe. The jewelry box, intricately designed with inlaid wood, contained a secret of its own – a false drawer that contained her pearl-handled revolver. 

“Are the bullets still in your bag, darling?” she asked Jack. 

He nodded and opened the door to the suite’s bedroom to retrieve them. 

“Any weapons?” she asked Lin. 

“No,” he answered, standing to admire the workmanship of the false drawer. “Though if I had this sort of box, I might have slipped any number of things past U.S. customs.” 

“Like a jade Buddha?” she teased. “I rather think it’s easier to slip one jewelry box past customs in a female tourists’ luggage than it would be in a large commercial shipment.” 

Lin stepped closer to Phryne, perhaps closer than entirely appropriate given the end of their romantic relationship. 

“Phryne,” he said softly, taking her hand in his. “I want you to know how much it means to me that you would take this risk to help me. I don’t have many friends who would do so.” Phryne smiled in response. She was genuinely fond of Lin, although she’d like to think she’d do the same for any friend who asked for her help. 

A knock on the door drew Jack back in the sitting room. Lin released Phryne’s hand and stepped back, but the movement did not escape Jack’s notice. “Perhaps that’s the bellman already,” Jack said, touching Phryne on the shoulder and handing off the bullets for her gun, before proceeding to the door. 

“I’d better get dressed,” Phryne said to Lin, then slipped into the bedroom. 

Jack tipped the bellman and shut the door. 

He approached Lin, voice low, eyes narrowed and hard. “I sincerely hope you understand that I’ll do anything to protect her.” 

Lin held his gaze. “Whatever you may think Inspector Robinson, I am a man of honor. I would throw myself in harm’s way before I allowed Ramsey to hurt her.” 

“As long as we’re clear,” Jack replied. 

“Clear about what?” Phryne asked, emerging from the bedroom in black slacks and a brilliant red jacket with a white Chinoiserie pattern. 

“The goals for the afternoon,” Jack answered, with no trace of the harder tone he had used with Lin. “A telegram for you, darling -- from your father. I’ll grab my jacket and we can be off.” 

* * *

A little more than hour later, Phryne, Jack and Lin found themselves on a ferry across the North Bay to Sausalito. 

One of the great pleasures of a grand hotel, Jack was learning, came in just these sorts of full-service comforts. One call to the concierge procured door-to-door amenities – a car to the ferry, ferry tickets, a second car from Sausalito to Muir Woods, and a driver who would wait as long as necessary for the party to enjoy an invigorating walk in nature, before reversing the whole process and delivering them safely back to Fairmont. Safely, that is, if they could pull off Phryne’s bluff and convince Ramsey that they could produce the jade Buddha in due time. 

The bay was shrouded in its famous thick fog, the same fog that led British explorer Sir Francis Drake to miss the opening to the bay as he explored the Pacific coastline in the late 1500s, completely overlooking the value of the bay and the Sacramento River Delta. 

Lin, full of anxious energy, circled the decks of the ferry, leaving Phryne and Jack alone in the lower cabin. 

“It may be hard for you to keep up,” Phryne said to him. 

“Hmm?” Jack replied. 

“If Ramsey doesn’t speak Mandarin – Lin and I will switch over in our conversation to gain some additional advantage.” 

“I’ll follow along,” he answered. “Just keep me in your sight.” 

Jack paused. Phryne read his hesitation. 

“I have something for your costume,” he continued, after a beat. “An extra bit of verisimilitude, as you’re playing Lin’s wife.” 

“I’m playing his wife because I have the gun, Jack. It keeps me closer to Lin.” 

“I understand, Phryne. I have something that may help you further convince Ramsey of the story.” 

Jack reached into his pants pocket and produced an engagement ring – the same ring he’d bought on a whim on his trip out from Australia, carried in his pocket through the streets of New York and westward across the states without ever revealing its existence to Phryne. 

“Well?” she dared. 

Jack attempted to hand the ring to her. She stopped him. 

“Admittedly I’m not well versed in this, but I believe that when a man offers a woman a ring of this sort, it’s customary to place it _on_ her finger.” 

“I’m not playing the husband in this exchange,” he answered, eyes twinkling. They were playing a double game with the innuendo, and both knew it. 

“Aren’t you?” Phryne parried, holding out her hand and extending her fingers. 

Jack placed the ring on her finger, never breaking eye contact, in a gesture that felt as intimate as any they could perform in a place as public as a crowded ferry boat. 

Jack pulled her close and whispered in her ear, “I love you, Phryne Fisher, but this ring doesn’t have to mean anything that you don’t want it to mean.” 

“Let’s discuss that tonight,” she answered, “when this little mission is over.” 

The fog created a veil of privacy as she kissed him soundly. 

“Sausalito!” a deck hand cried out. The next phase of the adventure was about to begin. 


	4. Muir Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little bit _Maltese Falcon_ , a little bit _Thin Man_....

“Certainly remote,” Lin said warily. 

He sat in the back seat of the taxi with Phryne as it wound its way up a narrow, twisty mountain road towards the entrance to Muir Woods. The thick fog of the bay gave way to a grey drizzle. Recent spring rains had washed out portions of the embankment below the access road. Lin tried not to look down. 

Phryne placed a hand on Lin’s leg, near his knee, attempting to keep him calm before the confrontation with Ramsey. He squeezed her hand in response. 

Jack – in the front seat, next to the driver – looked straight ahead. 

At the park entrance, Lin scanned for Ramsey, finding him leaning against a smartly equipped Cadillac roadster with a driver in full livery. Ramsey looked the upper class British part, thin mustache, silk tie and elegantly tailored suit. Either the crash hadn’t affected his fortunes or he was doing well enough in the smuggling trade not to notice. 

“Beautiful car,” Phryne noted drily as she looked the man over. “Shall we?” 

As Phryne and Lin approached Ramsey and greeted him, Jack stayed behind in the cab. When they moved towards the park entrance, he hopped out and followed, playing the role of an ordinary tourist for the moment, moving quietly, keeping ten to fifteen paces behind as they proceeded ahead of him on rain-slicked boardwalk. 

Jack worked through the odds. Ramsey was alone, although he could have accomplices hidden elsewhere. He may or may not have a weapon, so it was certainly best to assume that he did. Jack wished he had something more menacing that the dime store pocket knife he had picked up as a cheap souvenir at a train station in Nevada – or the legal authority to arrest someone – really, either would do. 

Despite the danger, Phryne couldn’t help but be moved by the grandeur of their surroundings. A particular grove of ancient redwoods, known as the Cathedral, soared further than the eye could perceive. All tourist chatter fell away. Ramsey hadn’t said a word. 

Several hundred yards past the Cathedral Grove, Ramsey suddenly grabbed Lin’s arm, forcing him from the main path to a muddy clearing flanked by a stone border wall about three feet in height. A massive redwood trunk blocked the view from path. 

Phryne quickened her pace to keep up, hand on her revolver inside her coat pocket. Shielded by the redwood trunk, she paused to motion for Jack, hoping he was near enough to see her signal. 

As Phryne rounded the trunk, she could see that Ramsey had backed Lin up against the stone wall, aiming a small pistol, with a silencer attached at the barrel, squarely at Lin’s chest. 

“My package,” Ramsey demanded. 

“Steady,” Phryne said to Lin in Mandarin, partly as reassurance to her friend, partly as a test of Ramsey’s language skills. 

“I’m a very good shot,” Ramsey answered in Mandarin, “Steady or moving.” He switched back to English and repeated his demand, “My package, Mr. Lin.” 

“I don’t have your package,” Lin replied evenly. 

“Then why would you agree to meet me here,” Ramsey growled, shoving Lin roughly against the wall without losing his grip on the pistol. 

“We don’t have the package with us,” Phryne stated, her voice deep and strong, “But we do know where to get it. Tell us why it’s so important to you.” 

“Keep your voice down,” Ramsey commanded. 

Phryne spoke louder. “Tell us about the jade Buddha, Ramsey. How valuable is it?” 

“More valuable than your husband’s life,” he answered. 

“I don’t think you believe that,” Phryne replied, moving closer and revealing her own gun. “If you knew where it was, you’d simply put your hands on it. You wouldn’t need to threaten us. We’re more valuable to you alive.” 

Ramsey upped the stakes. “If you both know where it is, only one of you is valuable to me. The other is expendable.” 

Phryne kept her gaze, and her gun, steady on Ramsey, inching closer and looking for any advantage. Other senses on high alert, she listened for Jack, hoping that he was moving in the brush behind Ramsey to try to strike him from behind. 

After a long silent moment with no sign of Jack, Phryne escalated her bluff. 

“I’m the only one who knows the location of the package. My husband has no value to you. Let him go.” She gambled that her audacity might surprise Ramsey enough to take his focus from Lin, giving Lin some small window of opportunity to knock the gun away. 

Lin had other plans. 

“My wife is lying,” Lin said. “She knows nothing about my business.” 

Ramsey looked back and forth between them, never moving his gun from Lin’s chest. 

“I don’t know which one of you is lying,” Ramsey said, “but it matters little to me.” 

Ramsey whistled. His chauffeur appeared from behind the wall, pulled Lin into a choke-hold, and dragged him further into the woods. Ramsey held his gun on Phryne. 

“I’m taking him to the Castello di Amorosa where I’m due to meet my buyer. If your husband knows where the package is, I’ll get it out of him. If he knows nothing, and you hope to save his life, you’ll meet me there, with the item.” 

“How long do I have?” Phryne asked. 

“How long do you need?” he replied. 

“I’ve put the item somewhere for safekeeping. I may not be able to get it tonight.” 

“Twenty-four hours.” 

“I expect him to be unharmed,” she continued. “Or I’ll destroy the item and no one will have it.” 

“Twenty-four hours,” Ramsey repeated. He lowered his gun and walked calmly beyond the stone wall in the direction his chauffeur had gone with Lin, apparently calculating that Phryne would neither shoot him in cold blood nor recklessly pursue him through the woods on her own. 

His calculations were correct. 

Phryne placed her gun into her coat pocket and walked back to the main path to look for Jack, hoping that another of Ramsey’s men hadn’t grabbed him as well. 

At the Cathedral Grove, she paused at a wooden bench until her racing pulse returned to something like normal. The silence surrounded her. She placed her head in her hands, fought back a moment of despair, then turned her eyes skyward, following the soaring branches of the largest redwood into the grey mist above. After a moment, she stood up and trudged back to the park entrance. 

* * *

“Of all the stupid, half-baked plans, Phryne.” Jack was still livid. 

“I understand, Jack. I went into this unprepared, and Lin is paying the price.” 

“ _We_ went into this unprepared. I agreed to it.” 

“I didn’t give you much choice.” 

Jack shrugged. “There’s always a choice.” 

Phryne and Jack sat at the bar of the Hotel Sausalito, a seedy waterfront dive near the ferry terminal whose past as a bordello was only slightly hidden by its present as a raucous purveyor of illegal booze. Jack ordered another round of whiskeys for them both. 

Phryne turned to the bartender. “Is there a place around here called the Castello di Amorosa?” 

“What?” he scowled. 

“Castello di Amorosa. Or any castle. Let’s start there.” 

The bartender laughed. “You’re in the wrong country, lady.” 

“That’s our problem, Jack.” 

“We’re in the wrong country.” 

“We don’t have any information.” 

“That too.” 

“Listen to me, darling. I’m serious. In New York, our bluff worked because we had worked the case properly _before_ the confrontation with the bad guy. We did our research. We had allies. Here, all we had was a reckless bluff.” 

“And inferior weaponry. When Ramsey’s other goon grabbed me, all I had was a cheap pocket knife. And now I’ve lost that.” 

“Here’s what I suggest,” Phryne spoke quickly now, her confidence beginning to return. 

Jack raised his eyebrows. 

“I’m not charging ahead, Jack. I’m thinking out loud. We have twenty-four hours this time. Well, a little less now, and travel to the castle…” 

“…Which we haven’t located.” 

“Yet. You’re getting ahead of yourself. We go back to the Fairmont. We investigate Lin’s warehouse and sales office and learn everything we can about his business. We find someone who can tell us the value of jade Buddhas. We find the castle.” 

Jack couldn’t help but smile as Phryne spun out the next steps in the investigation – her quick mind learning from failure and her indomitable spirit charging ahead full steam against any obstacles in her path. She still wore the engagement ring. It sparkled even in the light of the dim barroom. 

“Phryne,” Jack interrupted, his voice now warm and soothing. “Finish your drink, darling. Let’s make the next ferry. We don’t want to waste any more time." 


	5. The Pleasures of a Grand Hotel

**Later, at the Fairmont...**

“What time should we go to the break-in,” Jack asked, rolling over in bed and moving to a seated position against the pillows. Phryne moved as well, leaning against his torso and remaining in his embrace, never breaking contact. Faded light through the hotel window suggested dusk but night had not yet fallen. 

“I do like this side of you, Inspector," she responded, tilting her head up for another kiss. "The last shift at Lin's warehouse ends at eight." 

“Nine, then?” he said, between kisses. 

“That should give us enough time,” she answered, swinging her leg over his and moving to a better position to deepen the kiss. 

“Will we still do this back in Melbourne?” she teased.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “This? I thought that much was settled at least.”

“But will we do this in hotels, in broad daylight, during the work day…” she continued, punctuating each phrase with a new kiss.

“Are hotels a requirement?” He responded in kind, pulling her fully into his lap.

“I can be very accommodating about location. Your office, for example…”

“What if I’m no longer a police officer?” 

Suddenly the playful teasing modulated into a different key.

“There was something in Hugh’s letter, then,” Phryne said, her voice warm and concerned, but no longer singularly focused on their foreplay.

“Old news and rumors,” Jack answered, matching her shift in tone.

Phryne moved out of his lap and back to his side, keeping her hand on his chest. “But your job is in jeopardy, isn’t it? Because you’re still here, and not back in Melbourne.” 

“I don’t know that for certain, Phryne. I don’t see what good it does to speculate.”

There was a knock at the door.

"Saved," Jack said. He stood up, grabbed a robe from the arm chair, and crossed the suite to answer the door.

“We’re not done talking about this,” Phryne responded.

At the door, Jack took two items offered from the bellman and give him a tip in return.

“Thank you, Mr. Fisher,” the bellman replied, then exited.

Jack closed the door. “I’m still not used to that,” he said to Phryne with a small laugh. 

“A small nod to propriety,” she responded, donning her own robe and joining him in the sitting area. “Or we could go back to the Hotel Sausalito where no one cares about our morals.” Her teasing tone had returned.

“I’m happy here,” he answered, examining the items in hand. “A note from the concierge about the Castello di Amoroso, and, yet another telegram from your father.” 

Jack handed her the telegram. Phryne rolled her eyes, but opened it this time.

“Father believes I’m ignoring him. Perceptive. He expects an answer to this message or he threatens to call the police to check and see if I’m still alive.”

“What’s so important?” Jack asked, genuinely curious now, though he hadn’t given the matter much thought earlier, despite the telegrams.

“Something in his letter, the one that was waiting when we arrived,” Phryne answered, crossing back the bedroom to search for the original missive. “I haven’t read it.” 

Jack turned his attention to the second item delivered by the bellman. “More excellent work from the concierge,” he said, holding the man’s note. “I do like this hotel.” 

“I’m listening.” Phryne rummaged through her belongings in the bedroom as Jack spoke.

“The Castello di Amoroso is a vineyard in the Napa Valley. There’s an estate there, in the form of a grand manor house, built by an American robber baron in the last century. About eighty miles from here. The Fairmont can get us a car.”

There was no response from Phryne.

“Phryne?” he called, crossing back into the bedroom.

Phryne sat at the edge of the bed, pages of her father’s letter next to her on the coverlet.

“Jack!” she answered, eyes sparkling, “You won’t believe this!"

“I’ll believe almost anything in a letter from your father.”

“You joke about the Fisher luck, darling, but here it is, in our favor,” she continued. “My father has an invitation to the Castello di Amoroso this weekend. Tomorrow in fact. Seems he’s been the recipient of a once in lifetime investment opportunity.”

“Let me guess – an investment in jade.”

“In a wide variety of valuable Asian art objects, including religious figures in jade. Stocks and bonds are too risky in a bear market. Put your money in rare art and it won’t lose value.”

“Dubious.”

“Yes, quite dubious as an investment strategy, but exactly what we need for our investigation. And to save Lin.”

“I guess we’re getting dressed.”

“I need to telegram my father. The invitation is non-transferable. You’ll need to go undercover Jack -- as Baron Henry Fisher.” 


	6. A Warehouse Break-in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Phryne and Jack gather more clues in preparation for a second confrontation with Ramsey...

**Later that night.**

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Jack asked. 

Phryne worked the padlock on the door of a warehouse at the edge of San Francisco’s Chinatown. Jack held the flashlight and acted as lookout. There was only a sliver of a moon to light the deserted alleyway. 

“Reasonably sure,” she answered, hearing a satisfying click as the lock gave way. “I don’t read Chinese but I can recognize the characters for Lin’s family name.” 

“Quiet,” Jack whispered, as the metal door creaked on rusty hinges. 

“You’re going to have to suppress that instinct for caution tomorrow to play a convincing Henry Fisher.” 

“I’m committing a felony in the middle of the night in a foreign country, Phryne. I’d say my sense of caution is a lost cause.” 

“Nonsense, Jack,” she replied, “It’s just superseded by a stronger commitment.” 

They entered the warehouse and shut the door tightly behind them. It didn’t lock from the inside. Jack shoved a heavy wooden packing crate in front of the door. 

Phryne shone her flashlight around the edges of the room, attempting to get the lay of the land. It was large and open, but not vast. Wooden packing crates filled with silks covered the majority of the warehouse floor. 

At the rear, a metal staircase led to a platform set about eight feet above the floor. A small office was constructed atop the platform, presumably containing sales records and a quiet work space for the warehouse manager. Phryne concluded that this was the best place to begin their search. 

“Are you thinking that we’ll find the jade Buddha?” Jack asked as they climbed the stairs. 

“That would be nice, of course,” she answered, “but frankly, we don’t even know if there is a jade Buddha. I’d be happy with any clue to what Li Jian and our Mr. Ramsey were up to.” 

The door of the office was unlocked. Phryne sat down at the desk, while Jack busied himself with a stack of metal file cabinets to the left. 

“The files are in Chinese,” Jack said matter-of-factly, then continued to look through each folder. 

At the desk, Phryne opened each drawer in quick succession, getting the gist of the contents before deciding what merited a deeper search. After surveying the top of the desk, she stopped her movements. 

“Jack,” she whispered, “someone else is here.” When he drew his eyes to hers, Phryne wrapped her hands around a porcelain tea cup with an intricate design of deep red. “It’s still warm,” she said. He turned off the flashlight immediately. 

Satisfied that there was no one else in the small office, Phryne took her gun from her coat pocket and motioned that they should exit the office to the open platform. They stood silently in the pitch dark, attuned to every sound. 

Phryne heard footsteps on the warehouse floor. 

“Show yourself,” she shouted in Mandarin, her voice full of stern authority. “We represent the owner of this business, Lin Chung.” 

“Then it’s a good thing I am Lin Chung,” the voice answered. 

Jack switched on his flashlight and shone it in the direction of the voice. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered. It _was_ Lin Chung. 

Phryne rushed down the metal stairs and flung her arms around Lin in a rush of affection. Even Jack had to admit he was relieved to find the man free and alive. 

“How in the world did you escape?” she exclaimed. 

Lin Chung smiled brightly. “Let’s sit down,” he said. “There’s much to discuss.” 

* * *

A little later Jack, Lin and Phryne gathered on metal chairs in the warehouse office. A fresh pot of tea had been prepared and served. Lin reached the crux of his tale. 

“Ramsey was dangerous, as you both saw, but not invincible. After a few hours, he left me alone with a young guard who was, quite fortunately, highly open to suggestion.” 

“Go on,” Phryne urged, eyes shining, rapt with attention. Jack, for his part, was considerably less excited. 

“I played upon the young man’s prejudice,” Lin continued. “I told tales of ruthless Chinese warriors, every scrap of story I could remember from literature or history to persuade him that any harm that came to me would be brutally avenged.” 

“And it worked?” Jack queried. 

“It worked to increase his anxiety. The bathtub gin in his flask did the rest. At the right moment, I knocked him cold and walked calmly out the front door.” 

“Well done, Lin,” Phryne gushed. 

“This is a rough business, Miss Fisher,” Lin continued, arms stretched wide to encompass the warehouse and its contents. “I’m not without resources. But our meeting with Ramsey was poorly planned. We’ll have to do better next time.” 

“We rather came to the same conclusion,” Phryne stated. “I’m terribly sorry I let you down earlier.” 

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Lin replied. “You didn’t ask for this trouble.” 

“No,” Jack muttered. “We didn’t.” 

“Besides,” Lin continued, his eyes steady on Phryne, “You inspired the thought that led me to our first real answer.” 

Lin stood to retrieve a cardboard box from the bottom drawer of a file cabinet. 

“Yesterday, as one my men prepared this package of Li Jian’s belongings to send home to his relatives, I noticed a small box of inlaid wood. It meant nothing to me.” 

Lin removed the wooden box from the outer cardboard and presented it to Phryne. 

“Tonight, as I was searching the office before you arrived, I made the connection.” 

“There’s a hidden drawer,” Phryne surmised. 

“Yes,” Lin answered. “Check for yourself.” 

Phryne did so. But the hidden drawer did not hold a weapon, as Phryne’s own box had, or the valuable jade figure that had started this quest. Instead, it held a small ledger book, its pages covered in Chinese characters. 

“You’ll have to translate for us, Lin,” Phryne stated. 

“Li Jian provided false citizenship papers for Chinese nationals scheduled for deportation from the U.S. facility at Angel Island. You've heard of the concept of paper sons? Citizenship records were lost in the great San Francisco fire. It provided opportunities." 

Phryne nodded. She wasn't aware of the concept of paper sons, but it followed a certain logic. 

Lin continued. "Li took this a step further. He only accepted customers who were skilled artisans. In return for their counterfeit papers, they produced counterfeit art objects.”

“And entered into business with Ramsey, who then sold the objects,” Jack said. “Makes sense so far.” 

“But the jade Buddha?” Phryne asked. 

“No record of it here.” 

“Perhaps," Phryne mused, "Li came across a truly valuable piece – somehow – and decided to move it through Ramsey's front as well. It fits with some evidence Jack and I have turned up. We’ll explain that later.” 

“And if we believe Ramsey’s original statements to Lin,” Jack added, summarizing the theory so far, “Li double-crossed Ramsey, kept the jade Buddha for himself, which then led to his death at Ramsey’s hand, and later to the arrest of the wrong man.” 

“Yes,” Lin said simply. 

“It doesn’t help us find the Buddha,” Jack replied. 

“But we’re much closer than we were before,” Phryne interjected, her confidence once again counterpoint to Jack’s skepticism. 

Lin secured the papers in the false drawer of the wooden box, wincing in pain as the intricate hand movements required to secure the drawer aggravated the injuries he sustained earlier in the day. 

Phryne noticed his pain. "Is your hand broken?" Her voice was warm and full of compassion. 

“I don’t think so,” Lin answered, his smile equally warm. 

“You must be exhausted though. Let’s go back to the hotel for at least a few hours’ sleep before we plot our next move.” 

Lin nodded appreciatively and the trio moved quickly to secure the office, and then the warehouse proper, before slipping back out to the Chinatown streets. 

Jack took Phryne’s arm as Lin stepped off the curb to motion for a cab. “Two men overnight in your room, Miss Fisher? What will the upright proprietors of the Fairmont Hotel think?” Jack’s tone hovered between teasing and real pique. 

“Bigamy?” she said lightly, opting to answer his teasing overtone instead of his angrier undertone. “After all, you are a liberal-minded man.” 


	7. A Reluctant Baron

**The next morning**

“Jack!” Phryne called out, entering the hotel suite with a burst of energy that completely masked her lack of sleep from the night before. 

“In here,” Jack replied from the bedroom. He stood before the open doors of the closet, wearing only a clean white dress shirt, and attempting to decide which of his suits best said Baron Henry Fisher. The suits, sadly, were speechless. 

“For you,” she said, eyes gleaming as she thrust a small rectangular box into his hands. “Where’s Lin?” 

“Out to the bank, I think,” Jack replied, then removed the lid from the box and folded box the tissue paper to reveal an expanse of jade green silk with a white Chinoiserie pattern. “What is it?” he asked, genuinely unaware. 

“A cravat, of course. From the shop downstairs. I couldn’t believe my luck.” Her tone contained more than a bit of childlike joy at the find. Jack would have preferred if it contained more teasing. 

“You’re enjoying this a little too much,” he said, draping the fabric around his neck and discarding the box. “I have no idea how to tie this.” 

“A proper nobleman would leave that to his valet,” she teased. 

“I’m not a proper nobleman.” 

“Neither is Henry Fisher,” she said quickly, “but he does recognize that the right bit of costume improves the illusion.” 

Jack turned to the mirror and fumbled gamely with the silk now wedged inside his collar. 

“Come here,” she said, pulling him close. “You want it much looser than a neck-tie. Folded over at the ends. Tucked a bit into your shirt.” Her hands went to work at the fabric, brushing his neck in a way that was at once practical and incredibly erotic. 

Jack took her hands in his and stilled her with a brief kiss to her forehead – a kiss that said, “not now” and “not like this”. 

Phryne smiled and moved on easily. It was one of the great pleasures of this new phase of their relationship, she was learning, to know with certainty that there would soon be another opportunity. 

Jack removed the silk from his neck and busied himself with packing an overnight bag. Phryne handed him an envelope. 

“Three hundred dollars, U.S.,” she said. “They’ll ask for it at the door, along with the original invitation.” 

“So that’s how these things are done,” he replied wearily, placing the envelope in the bag next to a gun they had procured in the warehouse district the previous night. 

“I can’t really generalize, darling, but it’s how this little gathering is going to be done. Think of it like the entry fee to a high stakes private poker game.” 

“I don’t have much experience with those either,” Jack smirked. “And I wish we didn’t have to split up for this next part of the plan to work.” 

“Ramsey would know me,” she answered plainly. “Lin and I will see what we can learn about the creation of the counterfeit art objects. You’ll learn how Ramsey intends to sell a valuable jade he doesn’t happen to have in his possession. And we’ll reconnoiter tonight in Calistoga when you slip away from the Castello.” 

“Still,” he said, infusing the one word with considerable worry, backed by caution. 

“It’s a good plan,” Phryne answered. 

“An improvement over the last,” Jack conceded, forcing a small smile. 

Jack had finished dressing while they spoke. He threw the last items into his bag and placed his trusty brown fedora on his head. 

“Henry Fisher wouldn’t wear a fedora,” Phryne teased, taking it gently from him and pulling him close once again. 

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll be Jack Robinson for a few more hours. I’ll transform later on the train.” 

“I like Jack Robinson,” Phryne answered, returning the fedora, her voice warm and expressive of considerably more emotion than the word like could contain. 

“Only like?” he parried. 

“A bit more,” she answered, pulling him in for a deep kiss. 

“Phryne,” called a voice from the sitting room. Lin had returned. 

“Just a minute, Lin,” she called from the bedroom, not leaving Jack's embrace. 

“My cue," Jack said. "Time for me to go.” 

“Be careful, Jack.” 

“I will, love,” he said. “You be careful too.” 


	8. The Streets of San Francisco

Moments later, Jack Robinson, fedora and overnight bag in hand, reached the sumptuous lobby of the Fairmont Hotel, strolled past the men’s wear shop that was presumably doing a brisker business in cravats today than they had planned, and stopped at the concierge desk. 

“Do you have a printed timetable for the Napa Valley train?” he asked. 

“Certainly, sir. From Vallejo?” the concierge replied crisply. 

As this bit of ordinary business was transacted, the hotel detective approached from behind. 

“Mr. Fisher,” the detective attempted. 

“Mr. Fisher?” he tried again, when Jack did not respond. 

A tap on the shoulder. 

“Mr. Fisher, if you don’t mind, sir,” the detective stated, now with an air of authority that suggested this was not a request but a formal summons. 

Jack turned and extended his hand to the man while internally processing the reminder. The rest of the weekend would be treacherous if he didn’t train himself to react to all variations of Fisher as a means of address. 

The detective, known as Baker, led Jack towards his office, silent and efficient. He motioned for Jack to take a seat on a hard-backed wooden chair while he took his own place behind his desk. Jack felt as if he were being hauled in front of the Deputy Commissioner, which, he supposed, was exactly the effect the hotel detective was going for, if he had any idea who Jack really was. 

“Leaving the hotel, Mr. Fisher?” Baker asked. 

“A day trip,” Jack replied. “I have some business in Calistoga.” 

“And your wife?” 

“Shopping, I believe. She has an interest in Chinese ceramics.” Jack knew from his time on the opposite side of the desk that the best lie cut as close a line as possible to the truth. Less chance of tripping up your partners that way. 

Detective Baker stared silently at Jack. 

Jack stared back. 

Baker blinked first. 

Jack pushed his chair back and stood up with conviction. “If that’s all Detective Baker,” he declared, in a tone as clipped and arrogant as he imagined Henry Fisher’s would be. 

Detective Baker switched tactics. “Another hotel guest, Miss Alma Treadwell, who occupies a suite on your floor, says that you and your wife came in very late last night, causing a ruckus and waking her up.” 

“I’ll apologize to Miss Treadwell for the noise,” Jack replied, then turned and tried once more for the door. 

“Miss Treadwell says you brought a Chinaman into your room, as a part of this ruckus, and he stayed with you overnight.” 

“How would Miss Treadwell know such a thing?” Jack replied evenly. 

“She saw the same Chinaman leave this morning. She’s concerned for the reputation of the hotel.” 

“Why? The Chinaman wasn’t in Miss Treadwell’s room,” Jack replied, too quickly. He felt a bit of Henry Fisher’s tone slipping into his own. 

Jack came back to himself and started over. “Mr. Lin Chung, our friend from Melbourne, Australia who has multiple business concerns in the city, found himself in a bit of difficulty last night and needed a place to stay. We provided shelter, which Miss Treadwell would certainly agree, is proper when one’s friend is in need. I’d be happy to reimburse the hotel for the additional expense of an extra guest.” 

The talk of money placated Detective Baker. “Very well,” he replied. “See that it doesn’t happen again.” 

“My wife and I leave for Australia on Monday,” Jack said. “Good day, Mr. Baker.”

* * *

Within a block of leaving the Fairmont and walking downhill on California Street, Jack realized he was being followed. A young man, no more than 20 years old, tailed him in the most obvious manner – walking too close, stopping too short when Jack stopped.

At the next intersection, as the rumbling of the approaching streetcar provided a distraction, Jack quickly turned right, then doubled back behind the young man before he could react. He grabbed the man’s arm roughly from behind. 

“Why are you following me?” Jack growled in the man’s ear. 

“I’m not,” he answered. 

“Of course you are,” Jack replied. “And you’re doing a piss poor job of it. Do you work for Baker? He’s trained you badly.” 

“And he doesn’t pay anymore.” 

“Then why are you helping him?” 

“To get back on,” the young man replied. He was a terrible liar. Jack thought the young man should aim for becoming a cop. He'd never make it as a private detective. 

“What does Baker want with me?” Jack asked. 

“He thinks you ain’t who you say you are. Do you have a cigarette?” 

“I’m not,” Jack replied. “I’m a senior police detective in Australia. I’m undercover.” It felt good to tell the truth. 

The young man seemed impressed. 

“Do you want to make ten bucks?” Jack continued. 

The young man nodded. 

“Can you get your hands on a police report?” 

The young man nodded again. 

“Here’s five,” Jack said. “I want the full police report on Li Jian. He was killed in a Chinatown warehouse at this address several weeks ago.” Jack copied down the address for him. “Meet me at the ferry terminal in an hour with the report and I’ll give you the other five.” 

After the young man pocketed the money, Jack continued his walk down California street. He thought the boy was a good gamble. Perhaps not Henry Fisher’s sort of gamble, but a good one nonetheless. He wished Phryne had been with him to see the performance. 

* * *

Meanwhile, not many blocks away, Lin Chung and Phryne Fisher searched a Chinatown back alley for the entrance to the counterfeiting operation noted in Li Jian’s secret ledger. 

Phryne allowed Lin to take the lead as he exchanged snippets of Mandarin and Cantonese with kitchen working chopping vegetables and laundry workers stirring boiling vats. 

After half an hour of questioning, Lin located the address and escorted Phryne up a dark, narrow staircase to a cramped space where dozens of men huddled over work tables. The toxic fumes from the paint and glaze stung Phryne’s eyes. She hung back near the room’s one tiny window while Lin rousted a man who might provide answers. 

Lin led the man, who gave his name only as Bao, into the storeroom of a restaurant on the first floor. It was relatively quiet, compared with the workspace above and the adjacent kitchen and alley. 

“This is Miss Fisher,” Lin began. “She is our friend, and will help me bring Li Jian’s true killer to justice. I expect you to answer her questions as honestly as you would do for me. I will translate if her Mandarin falters.” 

Bao nodded. 

“Let’s get right to the point, Mr. Bao,” Phryne stated. “Do you know where we can find the jade Buddha?” 

“There is no jade Buddha,” Bao answered. 

Phryne exchanged a glance with Lin. “How can you be so certain?” she continued. 

“Because I have been detained on Angel Island,” he answered. “It is a legend. All the men there tell stories of it. They say it is hidden somewhere on the mainland by a man who escaped. Some carve tales of it into the walls of their holding cells. It is a pretty story. But it is not true.” 

Phryne took in the new information and mulled it over. There was not enough time for ascertaining truth from legend in a tale like this. “Did Li Jian believe it was true,” she asked. 

“Yes,” Bao answered. “Very much so. He was consumed with it in his final months. Certain that if he could find the jade Buddha and sell it through Ramsey, he would have enough money to go home.” 

“Back to China?” Phryne repeated, beginning to understand something of the man’s motivation. 

“America held no more promise for Li Jian,” Bao said, shrugging his shoulders as if this was a certainty any foreigner might understand in these times, even if there was little they could do about it. 

Lin thanked Bao, believing the interview had reached the end of its usefulness, but as Bao was about to take his leave and return to work upstairs, Phryne stopped him. 

“Is there anything we haven’t thought to ask you, Mr. Bao?” she queried. “Anything else related to Li or his communication with Ramsey?” 

“Was the map included with the ledger?” Bao asked. 

“The map,” Lin repeated. 

“Yes, as Li heard stories from each new man from Angel Island, he created a treasure map of possible hiding spots. He planned to tell Ramsey that he had the final location pinned down.” 

“What did he claim was the location?” Phryne asked. 

“It is not true,” Bao answered. “There is no treasure.” 

“But what did Li think?” she asked again. “What did he put on the map?” 

“A grand estate in Napa Valley,” Bao replied. “I must say it in Italian. Castello di Amoroso.” 

* * *

Back on the street, Lin and Phryne were elated with the turn of events. 

“You’re becoming quite the detective Lin,” Phryne beamed. “I couldn’t have found Mr. Bao without you.” 

“I believe I understand why it holds your interest,” Lin responded. “There is a real thrill to this kind of discovery.” 

“There is,” Phryne said, smiling her widest and most glorious smile. “I think this case may have a satisfying ending after all." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may be interested in this article on hotel detectives in New York in the '20s that inspired a portion of this chapter: [Watching the Detectives](http://www.slate.com/articles/life/history/2017/06/inside_the_century_old_private_records_of_the_waldorf_astoria_s_detectives.html), Slate, June 12, 2017
> 
>  
> 
> Angel Island is real as well, though I've invented the jade Buddha legend. The Angel Island Immigration Station is now a National Historic Landmark and the island itself is a state park: <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Angel_Island_(California)>


	9. The Second Plan

“You should stash that when we hit Calistoga,” said the young man on Jack’s right. 

“Hmm,” Jack replied, not taking his eyes from the bulging folder containing the police report on Li Jian’s murder and subsequent investigation. 

Jack balanced the folder on his knee as the train jostled northbound. His new companion, Joe Smith, (“I swear it’s my real name! Joe Smith. I can go anywhere with it.”) had come through with the report as promised. 

The men were traveling slowly through the Napa Valley on a train in serious need of refurbishment. Vallejo, American Canyon, Napa, St. Helena – agricultural towns, once home to some of the best wineries in the country, that had weathered a decade of Prohibition and now faced a deepening economic turn down that some were starting to call a depression. 

“You should stash it in a locker at the train station. So the bad guy doesn’t take it from your room in the castle,” Joe said in a rush. 

“You’ve read too many detective novels,” Jack replied drily. “And I wasn’t expecting you to steal the folder. It’s police property.” 

“The instructions were to get the report,” Joe said, then slunk a little lower in his seat and lit a cigarette. 

Those _were_ the instructions, Jack thought. The kid was right, in one respect, although he had missed Jack’s real meaning. Still, the kid had potential. He was rougher around the edges than Hugh Collins, but there was something underneath. 

“Did you read the report?” Jack asked. 

“Yeah,” the kid mumbled. 

“How was Li Jian killed?” Jack’s tone reached for kindly schoolmaster, intending the question as a test of Joe’s memory and temperament. 

“.33. Two slugs to the chest.” 

“Was the weapon recovered?” 

“No, man,” Joe scowled. “You have the report right there.” 

In one smooth motion, Jack snatched the cigarette from the kid’s hand and threw it out the open train window. Joe sat up straight, seemingly understanding the correction. 

“Was the weapon recovered?” Jack repeated. 

“The weapon was not recovered, sir.” 

“Other evidence at the crime scene.” 

“The victim’s blood on the shirt of the man arrested.” 

“Good,” Jack replied evenly. He closed the folder, then handed a new cigarette to Joe. 

“Is this how you train your officers in Australia,” Joe asked, lighting the new cigarette. 

“Sometimes,” Jack answered. “When it’s warranted.” 

“Do you like being a cop?” 

“Yes.” 

“Better than being a P.I.?” 

“If I had my choice, yes. But the choice may already have been made for me. The circumstances aren’t entirely within my control.” Jack didn’t have to reveal that much to Joe, yet found himself unburdened by doing so. 

Joe nodded, and a sincere moment of understanding passed between them. 

“Why?” Joe asked, a more childlike tone in his voice. 

“Why what?” 

“Why is the situation outside of your control?” It was a like a three-year-old asking why the sky was blue. Joe wasn't looking for a practical answer. 

“Love,” Jack replied, then turned his attention to the unplowed field outside of his window. 

* * *

Phryne enjoyed a different view. 

She stood before a full-length mirror in a Chinatown dressmaker’s shop, adorned in a black silk dressing gown embroidered with red dragons breathing gold fire. 

“Exquisite,” Lin said, entering from the back room. “Mrs. Chin will be ready in few moments.” 

Phryne removed the gown, revealing her street clothes underneath, but continued to admire the intricate needlework. “I don’t need another,” she said with a smirk, “but this handiwork is almost too good to pass up.” 

“Allow me to buy it for you,” Lin offered. 

“Lin, no,” Phryne replied softly. 

“As a thank you,” he said. “That’s all I meant.” 

“It’s not necessary,” she said firmly, but with a smile. She folded the garment and placed it carefully on the front counter. 

A young woman entered from the back room. After getting Lin’s attention, she unrolled a parchment to reveal an intricately decorated map, covered in Chinese characters. The map depicted the upper Napa Valley and the Castello di Amoroso. 

“A work of art,” Phryne gushed in Mandarin. “Xie. Xie.” 

Lin paid for the parchment, took possession of a set of a calligraphy pens and a pot of red ink, then bid Mrs. Chin farewell. 

Phryne rolled the parchment and secured it in her bag before reaching the crowded street. 

“One counterfeit down,” she joked. 

“The jeweler is two blocks this way,” Lin gestured. “Let’s pick up our Buddha.” 

* * *

“This is actually a castle.” Jack was momentarily in awe of the sheer audacity that would possess a man, however rich, to build a full scale medieval Italianate castle in the California countryside. 

After arriving in Calistoga and departing the train, Jack had transformed himself into a passable Henry Fisher, or at least a passable simulacrum of a British Lord who called himself Henry Fisher, silk cravat and all. Joe Smith, suitably attired as Baron Fisher’s valet, joined Jack in a cab for the short drive the Castello di Amoroso. The cab fled main street, ventured down the main highway, and turned right on a dusty access road. The castle loomed above the vineyard, its massive stone walls and turrets eclipsing everything else in view. 

“I didn’t know people had that much money,” valet Joe announced. 

“They do,” Jack answered, though the fact made him weary. “The question is the crimes they may have committed to get it in the first place, and the lengths they go to now to keep it.” 

The cab pulled to stop at the castle’s massive entrance. 

“Get in character Joe,” Jack stated. “It’s showtime.” 

* * *

Moments later Jack was met by Ramsey in the great hall, a gigantic reception room holding a massive wooden banquet table. The walls were fully covered in brightly painted frescoes, depicting, Jack assumed, scenes from Italian history. The intricate artwork would have taken a team of artisans years to complete. 

A small number of well-dressed men – a dozen or less, Jack judged – milled about in the room, enjoying wine and hors d’oeuvres. There was only one woman in their number. 

“Mr. Ramsey,” Jack boomed, summoning every bit of Fisher bombast he could muster. “Baron Henry Fisher.” 

“We’re honored, sir,” Ramsey replied, his obsequious tone and little bow conveying the opposite of what Jack had witnessed of him in Muir Woods with Phryne and Lin. Ramsey showed no signs of recognizing Jack from that day, nor did Jack expect him to. Joe handed the invitation and envelope of cash to Jack, who presented them to Ramsey in turn. 

“I’m anxious to see the jade Buddha,” Jack said, looking Ramsey square in the eye. 

“You’ve had a long journey, Baron Fisher. I wouldn’t want to trouble you with talk of business tonight.” 

“I’m ready to conduct business, Mr. Ramsey.” 

“But you haven’t met the others.” Ramsey gestured to the assemblage at the far end of the room. 

“So it’s to be a competition,” Jack answered. 

“I prefer auction,” Ramsey replied. “The Buddha is a very rare and valuable opportunity.” 

“When can I see it?” Jack asked, his tone still confident, but inwardly he wondered if he hadn’t pushed Ramsey too far, too fast. 

“All in due time, sir.” Ramsey once again gestured to the group of other buyers. “Please, enjoy the hospitality of the Castello this evening. There’s time for business tomorrow.” Ramsey ended the performance with another half bow. 

Jack stepped away, pulling Joe with him, out of Ramsey’s earshot. 

“He doesn’t have anything,” Jack muttered to Joe. “He’s a bigger fraud than we are.” 

* * *

Nearly an hour later, after Joe had been shown the servants’ quarters and Jack had fulfilled Baron Fisher’s minimal social duties with very brief hellos to Castello’s other weekend guests, he trudged down a cold stone corridor to his designated room on the second floor. 

He was exhausted. 

Jack opened the heavy wooden door, took in the massive four-poster bed in the center of the room, lit only by one dim candle, and – 

“Hello, Jack.” 

Phryne. Waiting for him at the center of the bed, under a fur blanket, completely naked. 

“What? How?” he stammered, devoid of coherent thought. “I thought we were meeting later in Calistoga.” 

“I can go if you like...” she purred. 

“Don’t you dare.” He joined her in the middle of the bed and pulled her close for a searing kiss. 

Phryne untied his cravat and flung it across the room. 

“Wait, darling,” he said. “One thing first. Ramsey still doesn’t have the Buddha. He’s bluffing.” 

“I know,” she answered brightly. “It doesn’t exist. Well, it does – but only because we’re going to plant it somewhere in the castle tonight.” 

Phryne reached under the bed cover and produced a rather ordinary jade Buddha she and Lin had procured in Chinatown earlier in the day. 

“How will this convince anyone?” Jack asked, his tone skeptical but gentle. 

“Because we have the treasure map, of course,” Phryne answered. The scrolled parchment rested atop the bedside table, next to the calligraphy pen and pot of ink. “We plant the Buddha, and then X marks the spot.” 

Phryne smiled brightly, certain that this was one of her best plans yet. 

Jack was utterly awestruck. He lay next to her on the bed and pulled her into his embrace. 

“I may be missing some details of the details of our next few moves,” he said between kisses. 

“Nonsense darling,” she replied. “You follow along beautifully.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Castello di Amorosa is very real, but was built in the 1990s buy a guy who strikes me as bearing some resemblance to an arrogant American robber baron of the previous century. [Photos and virtual tour here](http://www.castellodiamorosa.com/), and check out the guy's [blog posts on how and why it was constructed](http://www.castellodiamorosa.com/index.cfm?method=blog.blogList&blogCategoryID=a1527ff7-be55-4e58-8e56-e94d4eed1e26).


	10. Private Conversation

Sometime around four a.m., Phryne and Jack were wide awake in his room at the Castello, the requirements of their investigation once again reversing the patterns of work and sleep that propriety would require. 

Not that there was much that an outsider might view proper about their activities at the moment –- Jack was impersonating a British Lord, Phryne had just hidden a jade trinket that they intended to pass off a valuable piece of art, and the two of them had marked the trinket’s location on a parchment they would claim was a long sought-after treasure map –- while in a California stone mansion masquerading as a medieval Italian castle. The path to truth and justice took strange turns. 

“We should let the parchment dry before I roll it up again,” Phryne said. She replaced the cap on the calligraphy ink bottle then waved the paper gently in the air. 

“And then you’ll head out,” Jack said ruefully. 

“Yes. I’ll have Lin add a few more characters to the map now that we’ve done our bit.” 

“And if this doesn’t work?” 

“It will,” Phryne stated. “The map wouldn’t work on its own. It’s our performance that will truly persuade, and Ramsey’s desperation should make him willing to believe just about anything.” 

“I'm ready to get back to Melbourne,” Jack said. He lay on the bed, head and torso propped up on pillows against the headboard. 

“We’re nearly done here,” Phryne soothed. She placed the parchment on the side table and joined Jack on the bed. “We’ll get Jack Robinson back to his proper work environment.” 

“Will we,” he replied. There was more than a hint of self-pity, but well, it was the middle of the night and he was tired. 

“What was in the letter from Hugh, Jack? You’ve mulled it over silently long enough.” Phryne never had any patience for self-pity, despite the hour. She succeeded, she thought, in keeping overt frustration from her tone while remaining firm. 

“That’s just the thing, Phryne. The letter was maddeningly vague. I can’t stop thinking about the possibilities.” Jack moved to a seated position, finally fully engaged with the question. 

“Let’s name the possibilities,” she answered. 

“What?” 

“Let’s lay them out and examine them in the light,” she continued. “The first one is easy. You arrive for your first day back to find that the new commissioner has relieved you of your duties.” 

“That’s easy?” he replied. 

“I’m not saying living with it is easy. I’m saying it’s a possibility that's clearly defined.” 

“Alright.” 

“So is its opposite. Clearly defined. You arrive back at City South. The nice bloke who’s been keeping your chair warm moves aside. The new commissioner says nothing and you resume.” 

“Yes.” 

“The problem, my darling Inspector, is in the in-between cases. Let’s examine them.” 

“I’m not sure I follow,” Jack said matter-of-factly. 

“I’ll play the new commissioner,” Phryne said. 

“We don’t know who he is,” Jack replied. 

“I’ll play the new commissioner,” she repeated, modulating her voice into a deeper register, playfully, as she had once done at a suspect’s door when Jack had first made her a special constable. 

Jack closed his eyes and sighed, then opened them again, and met her gaze head on, ready to follow along. 

“Inspector Robinson,” she began, playing the new commissioner, but a tone closer to her own natural speaking voice. “I see you’ve had lengthy leave of absence to America. Why were you away so long?” 

“I.., well..., I took the leave to travel and meet my…, my…” 

“Yes, Inspector,” said Phryne-as-Commissioner, her tone stern and authoritative. 

Jack grew frustrated. “Phryne, this is silly. We don’t have a name for what we are together now that’s appropriate for me to use with a superior officer.” 

“Because I’m not your wife,” she said evenly. “And I’m no longer simply an amusing lady detective who sometimes assists you on difficult cases.” 

“No.” 

“And I suppose,” she continued, taking both his hands in hers, “once word gets around town that we’re back and together, no new commissioner will allow me to be your special constable.” 

“They can’t take away your badge,” Jack said. 

“No, darling, they can’t.” Phryne leaned over to kiss him – a gentle, quick brush to the lips. 

Jack released her hand, then lay back against the pillows. The first hint of dawn shone through the bedroom window. 

Phryne stood up and gathered the parchment. The ink wasn’t perfectly dry, but it was good enough. 

“I should be off before the kitchen staff blocks my exit,” she said. “Get some sleep. We'll work this through, darling. We always do." 


	11. The Castello

The weather was pleasant enough to serve breakfast outside on an elevated stone terrace nestled between two of the Castello’s towers. Jack-as-Baron-Fisher lingered over his morning tea and toast, making small talk with the other assembled buyers and waiting for Ramsey to appear. 

Most of the other buyers kept their cards close to their vests, deferring any personal questions beyond name and occupation with either polite jokes or airy vagueness. The one woman of their number, a tall blonde who Jack judged to be in her early thirties, circulated on her own, seemingly unattached to any of the male buyers. Jack found this intriguing. 

He had learned her name was Lady Treadwell and that she currently resided in Vancouver, British Columbia, but had no further details. In truth, he had avoided her conversation, worried that he’d give the wrong detail about Cambridge or Eton or the affairs, romantic or business-like, of the extended royal family. Jack adjusted his –- no, Henry Fisher’s –- cravat and feigned absorption in the morning newspaper. 

At half past eight Ramsey finally made an entrance. Jack watched him glad-hand the others, then motioned for a private word. They exited the terrace to a darkened passageway. Jack’s eyes struggled to adjust to sudden change of light. Still, he could sense Ramsey’s impatience. 

“I wasn’t pleased with the security last night,” Jack began, his voice full of Henry Fisher bombast. “If our transaction can’t be handled safely, I’ll take my business elsewhere.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that Lord Fisher,” Ramsey responded. “Was there something specific that troubled you, sir?” 

“There was a rustling outside my room throughout the night. Of course, my own door was locked and my valuables secure, but I was troubled.” 

“I see,” Ramsey replied, his tone once again signaling servility as he worked to keep Baron Fisher, and his money, on the hook. 

“What can I do to reassure you?” 

“It’s quite simple, Ramsey. I’d like you to show my valet where all of your guards and weapons are stationed.” 

“That’s a most unusual request, sir.” 

“The Buddha is a most unusual object, is it not? And you are hoping for a most unusual price? I’m prepared to pay that price, when I’m satisfied.” 

Ramsey nodded his agreement. “In secret. None of the other buyers can know you received special consideration.” 

“Very well.” Jack extended his hand. “My man Smith awaits you in his room. I expect this to be done within the hour.” 

One item down, Jack thought, striding back to the outdoor terrace as Ramsey took his leave. Once again, it took a moment for his eyes to readjust to change in light. As he rounded a stone column, he barreled directly in to Lady Treadwell, exiting the terrace in the opposite direction. 

“My apologies,” Jack offered, reaching a hand to her elbow to steady her against a fall. 

“I’m as much to blame, Lord Fisher,” she responded. “Alma Treadwell. I was hoping for a chance to speak with you.” 

“A chance with less risk of injury, I imagine,” Jack answered, aiming for flirty charm. 

“Would you care to join me inside?” she offered. “I find the California sun quite blinding this morning.” 

Jack offered Lady Treadwell his arm. Something about her name snagged in his memory, but he couldn’t immediately place it, and let it go. _Think of England_ , he told himself, hoping that the mental images would allow him to remain in character well enough to extract information from her without blowing his own cover. 

* * *

Moments later, Lady Treadwell directed Jack to a small drawing room a motioned for him to take a seat. The room was dimly lit, with only two small windows. The layer of dust on the mantelpiece and condition of the furniture suggested that the room was not intended for use by the party guests this weekend. Lady Treadwell shut the heavy wooden door. 

Jack allowed himself a moment of concern -– could she be one of Ramsey’s security force? –- then channeled Henry Fisher’s persona once again. 

“Is it necessary to close the door, Lady Treadwell,” he flirted. “We’ve only just met. What will the others think?” 

“I suspect they’ll think very little, Inspector Robinson,” she replied, still standing. “Thoughts of protecting their wealth crowd out much other human concern, presuming of course, that men like these were capable of much concern in the first place.” 

Jack looked at her more carefully, noting her steely resolve and intelligent bearing as he processed her words. She held his gaze silently. He made the connection. 

“You called me Inspector Robinson,” he said, dropping any pretense of an upper class English accent. 

“I’m not sure undercover work suits you, Inspector, although you make a good effort with Ramsey.” 

“What should I call you?” Jack asked. 

“Let’s leave that question for now,” she continued. “Phryne said…” 

Jack barely let her get the words out. “Phryne, where is she? What have you done with her!” He was on his feet now, crossing the room towards the mysterious woman. 

“You think I’m on Ramsey’s team?” she laughed. “I’m on your team, Inspector. I’ve been chasing Ramsey for months.” 

Jack didn’t know what to believe. The multitude of bluffs, counterfeits, and undercover personas swirled in his brain. He reached for solid ground. “What has any of this to do with Phryne.” 

“I met her last night,” the woman continued. “It’s a large castle, but there are only so many passageways that lead to a secure exit. After a bit of shock, hers and mine, we discovered we had a common interest in uncovering the truth.” 

“About Ramsey?” Jack responded. 

“His counterfeit ring initially, although now I understand he’s added murder to the list.” 

“Yes,” Jack replied slowly, still wary. 

“I’m an investigative journalist for the San Francisco Chronicle, although they’ll deny it, if you were to call and ask. That guarantees my protection.” 

“And what guarantees mine?” he asked. 

She laughed again. It was a hearty and open laugh, not a cynical one. A laugh that looked with fond amusement in the wide and colorful variations of the human experience. A laugh not unlike Phryne’s own. 

“Phryne said you’d be cautious,” she continued. “We came up with a code word for just this circumstance. A journalistic one.” 

“All right,” Jack said. “Let’s hear it.” 

“Regina Charlesworth,” she said, extending her hand to his in friendship. 

“Miss Charlesworth,” Jack replied with a smile. “Very well. Let’s resume our part in this play.” 

“Lady Treadwell,” she corrected. “Shall we, Baron Fisher.” 

* * *

Hours later, Phryne and Lin Chung traveled the access road to Castello di Amoroso in a cab hired from the Calistoga Hot Springs Resort. Half a mile shy of the front entrance, Phryne asked the cab driver to halt. She paid the man, and they exited the cab. When she was sure the car was far enough down the road, she directed Lin from the main road, through the underbrush, to a dusty path that led the Castello kitchen. 

At a pre-arranged location, Joe Smith met Phryne on the path. 

“Three security guards active, Miss Fisher,” he explained. “Two quit last night when Ramsey couldn’t scratch up the weekly pay. One’s left on the main door. Two more guarding the display room with the antiques. I mean the fake antiques.” 

“Have the other guards been paid?” Phryne asked. 

“No,” Joe answered. “No one has.” 

“How many could you buy off?” 

“At least one,” Joe replied. 

Phryne gestured to Lin, who produced several bills for Joe. 

“See what you can do,” Phryne stated. “We’ll enter through the kitchen and look for our chance to get to Ramsey alone.” 

“Miss Fisher,” Joe continued, “It’s only the guy at the front that will give you any trouble. The other two, they only care about money. They know Ramsey don’t have the jade piece. Says he’s going to make as much as he can on the other fakes then light out after dinner tonight.” 

“But the other man?” Phryne asked. 

“The one who grabbed me in the woods, I imagine,” Lin added. 

Joe Smith shook his head. “I don’t know about that, but he said all Chinamen should be shot on sight.” 

Phryne winced slightly, then composed herself again. After all, Joe’s words were a good reminder of the deadly stakes involved with this course of action. The successful execution of the plan would take the right balance of recklessness and caution.

Joe noted her reaction. “Beg your pardon, for the rough words, Miss Fisher. I cleaned it up considerably. What the front guard actually said ain’t fit to say in front of any lady, detective or not.”

* * *

It didn’t take long for Phryne and Lin to find Ramsey inside the Castello. The antique buyers smoked cigars and drank fine imported wine in the great hall. The spectacle of the jade Buddha had drawn them to the castle, but they were in no rush for the good times to give way to business. Ramsey hovered in the doorway, a self-important master of ceremonies directing the movements of his wait-staff.

Wordlessly, Lin appeared in the same doorway, holding the unfurled parchment map. 

“We have the Buddha,” he whispered. “We want to make a deal.” 

Ramsey seemed truly caught off guard. 

Lin led him to an alcove in the main passageway. 

Phryne waited there, gun drawn. “It’s good to see you again Mr. Ramsey,” she said. “The Buddha is hidden here in the Castello. Once we recover it, we’ll sell it together today. We’ll take 75%.”

“I don’t believe you,” Ramsey said. 

It was an opening gambit, Phryne realized. It didn’t matter if he truly didn't believe them or if was simply another bluff. Her path was the same. 

“You will once we use this map to recover it,” she countered. 

Ramsey looked from Phryne to Lin, then back again. They were resolute. 

“Forty percent,” he countered in turn. “I’ve gone to considerable expense to get the buyers assembled here.” 

“Fifty,” she stated, “And we choose the buyer.” 

“Lead the way,” he gestured. 

“One more thing, Mr. Ramsey,” Phryne said, never lowering her weapon. “Baron Henry Fisher will have the winning bid.” 


	12. The Sting

The jade Buddha gleamed in the bright sunlight. 

_Not bad_ , Jack thought, watching the assembled crowd’s reaction to the prop. Ramsey had carried the treasure triumphantly the grand terrace, Lin and Phryne parading behind him. The parchment map was duly passed around the to all the potential buyers, its beautiful calligraphy presented as further evidence of the Buddha’s provenance. If Ramsey had any doubts, they did not show in his current performance. The danger, Jack noted, would arise again soon enough. 

Joe Smith, still dressed as Baron Fisher’s valet, sidled up to Jack, who was, of course, still costumed as the Baron himself. 

“I’ll go look for the lead thug,” Joe whispered, meaning Ramsey’s head guard, the one they all considered to be the most dangerous. 

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Jack responded. “Just keep an eye on him.” Jack had grown quite fond of the kid. He had proven his loyalty though action. 

“Quiet. Please take your seats.” Ramsey’s voice boomed out over the din of conversation. “This auction will be conducted through secret bids. Envelopes, here, will be provided, and sealed in everyone’s presence. Only I will open them.” 

Rumbles of discontent moved through the crowd of buyers. “How can we trust you!” one objected. 

Lady Treadwell stepped forward. “I’m not bidding, gentlemen,” she said firmly. “If everyone agrees to stipulate to my honesty, I’ll shadow Mr. Ramsey as he opens the bids and confirm the integrity of the proceedings.” 

There was more grumbling, but no man wished to contradict a titled lady in such a public setting. 

Jack-as-Baron-Fisher stood up. “I have the utmost faith in Lady Treadwell,” he stated. “I, for one, would find her service most welcome.” 

It did the trick. The other men held their peace. 

“The bidding will begin at ten thousand dollars, U.S.” Ramsey announced. 

Now Lin stepped forward. “Mr. Ramsey, if I may,” he began. “I believe it would be in our interest if I told the buyers more about the history of this Buddha. Its legend surely magnifies its value. Gentlemen?” 

Jack stepped forward once again, “Proceed, sir.” 

As Lin began to speak, Phryne stepped back into the shade formed by eaves at the juncture of the castle wall and the outdoor terrace. Everyone else was in bright light, while she was safely in shadow. 

Jack relaxed slightly as she performed this pre-arranged move, knowing that she could have her gun at the ready, yet hidden from view. 

In the foreground, Lin spun the legend of the Buddha. “It was at this point, during the Ming Dynasty, when Buddhism was under attack from prominent members of the imperial family, that this jade figure acquired its special powers – the ones that make it so valuable today.” 

“Go on,” Jack called out. 

“There are many legends,” Lin continued. “I do not wish to mislead you gentleman. But despite the many variations, the beating heart of the story remains simple. If a good man possesses the Buddha, it will bring him luck and unforeseen riches. But if an evil man so much as handles this figure, he will be cursed.” 

Phryne watched the reactions of the crowd, including Ramsey, her revolver at the ready. 

“I’m out,” one man announced. “I lost a fortune in five-card stud last night. I’ve already got a curse.” The man’s closest seat-mate, presumably the winning gambler, laughed heartily and slapped him on the back. They both exited the gathering. 

_Good_ , Jack muttered. The odds of the final phase of the plan, the one that would force a confession from Ramsey, improved greatly as the crowd thinned. 

Lady Treadwell had the next line. “It’s a very pretty story, Mr. Lin, but do you believe such a superstition? Surely this is a modern age.” 

“I am a businessman, Lady Treadwell,” he answered. “I trust in mathematics, and know that this superstition, as you put it, increases the value of the object for many buyers. All the same,” he continued, now looking directly at Ramsey, “you cannot deny that many lives have been lost in pursuit of this value. I do not call that a curse. Others might.” 

At this, Ramsey stepped forward to take control of the proceedings. “Bids now, gentlemen. We’ve heard enough.” 

Jack-as-Baron-Fisher advanced to the table for an envelope in which to seal his bid. He handed the envelope to Lady Treadwell, then ducked into the shadows to join Phryne under the eaves. Convinced no one else was watching, he stood close to her and whispered, “Final act of our little play, darling. I’m quite ready for the show to close so that we can get home.” Phryne smiled and held his gaze. Under all the layers of play-acting, their silent communication held the most profound truths. 

* * *

Nearly an hour later, the party assembled in castle’s chapel for the final hand-off the jade Buddha. Jack-as-Baron-Fisher had suggested the chapel as an ironic joke, stating that the saints and other Christian figures depicted in the chapel’s painted frescoes would ensure that the jade Buddha’s positive energy remained a part of the transaction. Jack as senior police inspector saw the value in a relatively small controlled space – one door, no windows, and near the main castle’s main entrance. 

Joe approached Jack and spoke quietly. “The second-to-last guard left with the winning poker player. He paid better. And I’ve taken care of the thug.” 

Jack raised his eyes, happy to remove the thug from the equation, but worried Joe had gone too far. “How,” he whispered. 

“Chloroform,” Joe answered. “Found some in the kitchen.” 

“You’ve read too many detective novels,” Jack replied. 

“Just enough,” Joe smirked. 

Ramsey entered the chapel, followed by Lin, Phryne, and Lady Treadwell. The jade Buddha was now wrapped in brown paper, secure for traveling. Ramsey handed the parchment map to Jack, pulled back a corner of the wrapping paper to prove that it contained the coveted object, then placed the package on the chapel’s altar. 

“Your funds, Baron Fisher,” Ramsey stated. 

Jack opened his travel valise and produced one thousand U.S. dollars in hundred dollar bills, the largest amount of cash Lin and Phryne could assemble on such short notice. It was not nearly enough. Luckily, they had prepared another ruse. He placed the stack of cash on the altar next the wrapped package. 

“The cash will certainly satisfy you as a good faith effort,” Jack said to Ramsey. “Here, you’ll find a letter from my personal solicitor, notarized this past Friday in San Francisco, outlining the steps we’ll take to transfer the rest of the purchase price to you in gold-backed securities next Monday.” 

Ramsey examined the forgery. 

He wasn’t pleased, Phryne observed, but he didn’t seem inclined to object. 

“Very well,” Ramsey said, folding the letter and placing it in his inner breast pocket of his coat. 

“One more thing,” Jack said, Baron Fisher’s wry yet authoritative manner of speaking coming rather easily now. “I’m agnostic as to this curse business, but before I take possession, I do think we should clear the air.” 

“Certainly,” Ramsey replied. 

“Madame Lin,” Jack continued, addressing undercover Phryne, “isn’t there a version of the legend in which the curse can be transferred from owner to owner through the generations – sins of the father and all that.” 

“That’s a western way of putting it,” she answered, “but yes, that’s the gist.” 

“And how would we remove such a curse?” 

“A full confession, of course.” 

“Seems the right location for one,” he replied. “And I’d hate to afflict future generations of Fishers with an unnecessary spiritual burden.” Jack’s eyes sparkled as he parried with Phryne in this role play. There were parts of this assignment that were enjoyable after all. 

He turned his attention back to Ramsey. 

“This is my final condition for purchase, Mr. Ramsey. A full written confession regarding your role in the murder of Li Jian.” 

And this was the final cue. 

Phryne, Lin, and Lady Treadwell all produced guns and trained them on Ramsey. 

Ramsey un-holstered his own weapon, backing towards the room’s sole exit and calling for his guards. Joe blocked the door. No guards appeared. 

Phryne approached Ramsey and took away his gun. 

“I’ve notified the Calistoga police,” said the intrepid lady reporter who had so ably impersonated Lady Alma Treadwell. “They should be waiting for us outside.” 

“Game’s up, Ramsey,” Jack said, removing his cravat. “I’m Detective Inspector Jack Robinson of the Royal Victoria police force, Melbourne, Australia. If this were my jurisdiction, your scheme would have been over a long time ago.” 

* * *

Monday evening, Phryne, Jack and Lin met for a farewell dinner at an elegant Italian restaurant on San Francisco’s Fisherman’s Wharf. 

“Do you think Joe will be accepted for the training program?” Phryne asked Jack. 

“I do, actually,” he answered. “The sergeant I spoke with earlier today seemed genuinely impressed by my account of his service. I think he’ll make a fine officer some day.” 

“And Miss Treadwell?” Lin asked. “I never did learn her real name.” 

“Anna McGuire,” Phryne replied. “We had a lovely lunch this afternoon. Seems she hit upon the counterfeiting operation while investigating living conditions in the worst parts of Chinatown – unregulated sweatshops and that sort of thing. She was undercover investigating us at the Fairmont, before we even went to Napa. Her heroine is an American reporter named Nellie Bly who went undercover to expose all sorts of wrong-doing in New York at the turn of the century. She’s quite the firebrand.” 

Jack noticed how Phryne’s eyes sparkled as she told the tale. “Thinking of a career change, darling?” he teased. 

“I like to keep my professional options open,” she replied, equally in jest, happy to have her relaxed, sardonic Jack Robinson back at her side. 

“My gifts for you will be more apt if you remain a detective,” Lin said, producing a beautifully wrapped box and a smaller parcel loosely covered in brown paper. 

“Lin, you shouldn’t have,” Phryne responded, genuinely pleased with his effort. 

“I can’t possibly repay you – both of you – for your assistance, but I can offer a token of appreciation.” Lin placed the items on the table. “For you, Inspector,” he continued, pointing the smaller parcel. 

Jack unwrapped the paper. “The Maltese Falcon,” Jack said plainly, revealing the slim novel by Dashiell Hammett. 

“Your Mr. Smith told me it was the best new work of detective fiction,” Lin responded. 

“We do have a long trip ahead of us, Jack,” Phryne said, examining the book. “I’ll read it if you don’t.” 

“Phryne, please open the other box,” Lin said with a smile. 

She folded back the beautiful wrapping, careful not to tear the paper or muss the bow. As she worked, Jack noticed for the first time that the engagement ring he had presented to her earlier in the investigation – the “prop” she wore to play Lin’s wife – remained in place on her right hand. 

Phryne noticed Jack’s attention to the ring, caught his gaze, and held it for a long moment with an enigmatic smile. The exchanged escaped Lin’s notice altogether. 

With a final flourish, she opened the lid of the box, pulled back the delicate tissue paper, and removed a small jeweled clock adorned with Chinese figures. Red dragons surrounded the clock face. 

“It’s a mystery clock! Lin, it’s a work of art.” Phryne was elated by the gift. 

“A mystery clock?” Jack asked. 

“Yes, look at the hands -- the way that they seem to float without a visible connection to the rest of the mechanism.” She drew Jack’s attention to the center of the clock. “They’re a clock-maker’s puzzle,” she continued. “A display of intelligence, skill, innovation.” 

“Excellence,” Jack added, his voice weighty with meaning. 

“Yes,” she replied. “And this a beautiful example.” 

Under the table, Phryne laced her right hand with Jack’s left and held it tight. 

Lin lifted his glass for a toast. “To the successful conclusion of our endeavors,” he said, “and to our continued friendship.” 

“Here, here,” Phryne answered, raising her own glass. 

“And may no new unsolved murders cross our path before our ship hits international waters,” Jack added with a laugh. 

“And after that?” Phryne asked. 

“As you just noted, it’s a long journey, Miss Fisher,” Jack said with a wry smile. “I have no doubt someone will require your assistance along the way.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mystery clocks are a real thing, and once I learned of them, I knew Phryne had to have one. [Photos and more info here](https://longlineoftvdetectives.tumblr.com/post/162085280803/mystery-clocks).
> 
> [Nellie Bly](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nellie_Bly#Asylum_expos.C3.A9) is also a real person, a pioneering American investigative reporter who, in 1887, at 23 years old, went undercover in a mental institution to expose abuse of the patients. I think Phryne would find her remarkable. 


End file.
